Confidante
by MusicalMischeifMaker
Summary: How is it exactly that a sixteenyear old girl who leaves home to follow her dreams of being a dancer ends up on her deathbed at only nineteen? Mimi comes clean during her last days in hospital to a rather odd Confidante.


_**Author's Note: **Okay, this story has been one that I have been planning on for a while. I just didn't know it for a long time. I thought about it in passing moments for the past month or so, but I never really though about how to open it tonight._

_I'll start with this: I am frigging amazed at the feedback for Last Man Standing. I actually brought it in to school to show a few of my friends after the fact, and they'd thought I'd gone nuts. I actually came home that day, prepared to take it off. But then I saw that there was actually reviews. Not flames. Reviews. So I'd like to thanks._

_After that, thought of doing a more serious, dramatic, perhaps slightly angsty piece after that. However, I got caught up on other stories, and school, and basically forgot about it until Christmas Break, where I got so bored with all the extra time on my hands that I began to read a lot of fanfiction daily. Wicked things. Harry Potter things. But not alot of RENT things. This was because, at the time, I had just gotten the RENT DVD for Christmas, and I was literally watching it back to back. Reading RENT and trying to watch it at the same time nearly made my eyes bleed, so I leaned off it a bit._

_But I read them later at night, after my mom began threatening me with the destruction of said DVD if I played it (all night) again. At the same time, I went googling random things. Eventually, I even Googled RENT, and I came up with a description for all of the characters in the play._

_I'd like to point out that Mimi is not anywhere close to being my favorite character. Maureen, or Collins, or Angel would take that spot. Even Joanne would probably beat Mimi out. But she is a big character, right? This is what they had to say about Mimi on the Wikipedia sight:_

_Mimi Marquez- HIV-positive pole-dancer, heroin junkie. Roger's love interest._

_I basically went like this:_

_That's it?_

_Mind you, the other bios were short as well, but still, something hit me about Mimi. A seed was planted. But nothing really grew until about a week ago._

_Any who, I kept on thinking about Mimi mildly for a bit. However, I realized that there was most of the stories I read, about the lives of the Bohemians, before RENT or Pre-RENT. There was a lot of Roger, Mark, Maureen, Collins; even some Angel. Not a whole lot on Mimi. And, not to dock anybody's story, cause I still loved a lot of them, but they hardly made any sense. _

_I started out with a bit of an idea: the story of Mimi from when she was fifteen-sixteen years old, and her first coming to New York, up to the point of her near-death experience and maybe even beyond. I didn't know who I'd start it though: Right in the old, days, or a little before that. Originally, I even had a title for it: Milagros (Miracles) . But none of it ever seemed to come together right, why was Mimi (As I've written it in first person) Requainting all of this now? I needed to have her speak out to someone. But who would it be? Would she be secure enough to tell Roger even her lowest lows? Or Mark? Or Collins, maybe, seeing as he was also close to her friend, Angel? I tried a whole bunch of different senarios, but none of them seemed quite right until I tried what I would have thought to be the most unlikely: Maureen._

_I have no idea how I ended up with this chapter. Really, I was just typing randomly one day, and it came out. As to why I ended up on Maureen; maybe it's because she was also a speaker at Angel's funeral. But I also wanted to show a more Serious side to the bubbly, slightly immature drama queen: one that we see fleetingly in the show; movie and musical. And then, of course, there is the little reminder that it was Maureen and Joanne who found Mimi in her homeless, sick state. Maureen who carried her back to the loft. Mimi, prehaps, would feel a stronger connection to Maureen now after what happened then. With this idea came a slightly new title: Confidante._

_So this is my story, while, for once, will only have a few little moments in it of purposeful humor. Mostly, I'd like to keep this as general as possible, and as Canon as possible._

_**Disclaimer: **RENT does not belong to be, obviously. Any other characters, ones you don't recognize from RENT, are mine however. But there are none in this chapter, so don't worry about it._

_**---**_

I have always hated hospitals. Always have, always will. They haven't exactly been happy places for me.

No is no exception either. Mind you, I hate it for a different reason. The first time I was in hospital (besides being born, of course) I was six years old, and had to get my tonsils out. Mamá and papá were still in the building, I was old enough to know that. They stayed in the doctor's quarter's for the night, however. They left me in my room. Alone. Bathed in the too-white light from the hallway, I faintly remember lying in that hospital bed, extremely uncomfortable and no longer saited with the ice cream I'd been given since I'd woken up earlier that evening. Unable to call out for who I wanted, as I couldn't find the voice for it. I was terrified, because I was alone.

Now it'd be stupid to think that. I have at least one person in my room daily now, between nurses and visiting friends. Some girls from the club stopped by the day before, and tried to brighten up my room a bit more with flowers (although they were beginning to wilt before they were put in the vase on the bedside table, and they still look extremely pathetic. I give them points for trying.) Roger's never left my side since I'd gotten in here, but around this time he takes a bit of a nap, as it's practically humanly impossible to stay awake for days on end. He nodded off about a half hour ago, and besides actually taking the time to count the clock every few minutes, I wonder what swear word he'll use when he wakes up again, and finds a wicked kink in his neck (he's bound to get one, with his head lolled back that way.) One thing with Roger is, that you'll know it'll always be some colorful variation, and it keeps time passing by making guesses.

Maureen, Mark, and Joanne came in earlier this morning. I could hear Maureen arguing with the head nurse around six, that they were as good as family and deserved to get in now. Even though visiting hours were open until nine, and even family weren't allowed in early. The nurse seems to have won, and I give her my compliments, mentally. Winning an argument with Maureen is a trick feat.

No, I still hate the Hospital. Because besides Roger's quite snoring in his corner, and the soft clicking of heels and hushed voices of medical persons in the hallway, the place is always so unnaturally quiet. I'm used to pulsing rythmns of city-created music. Or throbbing speakers in clubs. It drives some people mad, but this- this half-silences- is what drives me for a loop.

A hum escapes my lips. Although it is nowhere near a strong sound, and has no particular purpose to it, it helps alot. Maybe because I'm concentrating more on that than what's around me. Concentrating on the fact that I have I needle shoved in the back of my left hand, my right wrist, and countless other little bruises on other pricks from past morning, afternoon, and late-night medicatings. The fact that I sometimes now I'm being given oxygen through a mask, when I'm to tired to breath it all in myself.

The fact that I probably look exactly like Angel before...

I close my eyes, and try to hum louder. Roger snorts in his sleep, and shifts slightly, his left arm dropping carelessly over the arm of his chair. I can't understand how he can sleep sitting up like that. I can't sleep now, and I'm actually laying down. Unless I get some 'assistance' that is.

"Mimi-" Someone's voice breaks my concentration on Roger's limp form, though I don't quite turn yet. I recognize that voice, but barely. I've only heard that voice so quiet and concerned resently. Ever since I was hospitalized, it's the only version of this voice that I hear directed at me, and it's another thing that bother's me. It's much easier hearing that voice loud and boisterous, in control, like when she'd performing. Or arguing at duty nurses.

"Honey, you awake?"

I turn my body as much as possible, until I feel that slight tug of the IV in my arm, and stop. Laying flat on my back, I turn my head, which is much easier than lifting my entire, if meager body weight the rest of the way to my door-facing side, and doesn't leave me quite as spent.

"Yeah." I'm still shocked to hear my voice come out more of a groan than word. Low and guttural. It's not me, but it seems all I can muster sometimes. Half coherent mumbling.

It is Maureen, though one who is very toned down (for Maureen, that is.) She's in jean and a semi-matching jacket, leaning halfway against the door frame, a coffee from the cafe in the lobby downstairs clutched in her hands. I look at her face, and find it different for some reason. It takes me a moment to realize that, for once, she's not made up. Even her hair, the wavy brownish-black sleek waves she's so proud of, hardly seems brushed except to be pulled back in a rather dull ponytail.

Probably not even awake. It's always so hard to tell if Maureen's an eager morning person or not. She always up early, sometimes her old self I remember, and sometimes like this. Mornings she looks like she does now usually means she had a little too much to drink the night before, but a second look at her makes me suppose that she wasn't suffering from a late-night-of-partying-hangover.

Besides, if she'd been drinking the night before, she certainly wouldn't have been so loud as she'd been this morning.

"We tried to get in to see you earlier." She explained. " But we decided we'd leave you and Roger alone for a bit."

It was a bad lie; Roger and I had had a lot of 'alone time' for the past couple of days, seeing as he never went home save for when Collins dragged him home with Mark's help to make him take a shower, as the question of his hygiene was beginning to worry the nurses about the sanitation of his section of the room.

"I heard." I couldn't gesture with my hands, as I was half afraid to rip something out and I did not want them reinserted-the process being rather hurtful. I looked in the direction of the thin-backed leather chair next to my bed, and Maureen seemed to take the hint gratefully, walking across the room and setting her self in it, cradling her warm drink in both her hands now, and taking a long sip as she shifted uncomfortably.

Once again, there was that awkward silence I hated so much. I tried breaking it with a question. " Mark and Joanne?"

Lowering her cup, Maureen sighed. " Went to go and get some breakfast, and to stop by the loft to pick up Collins. He wanted to sleep in later."

"I see." Was my utterly dense reply. Collins had stayed with Roger last night until I fell asleep, and probably even long after that.

"Brought you this." Maureen added, placing her slightly steaming cardboard cup on the table next to the wilting flowers and dug around in her pocket, pulling out some cheap ornament out of her pocket, hung on a key chain, letting it shine in that artificial light that seemed exclusive only to hospitals. " Thought you'd like it."

She lowered it closer to my eyes so that I could see it easier. It was nothing special, but had it's own sort of prettiness. Some metal or other hard substance with a bronzy-look carved in the shape of a curled up sleeping cat. A smile crossed my lips. Lots of jokes had been made about me working at a place know as the Catscratch Club. Even now I seemed unable to outlive it.

"Love it." I mumbled. Sincerely.

"Thought you would." Maureen matched my small smile with a beaming, almost childish one that made up for my puny attempt and then some. She placed it on the mattress besides me with a little flick of her long fingers. The smile she wore, however, faded quicker than I'd ever seen it leave her strong-jawed face, a rarely-used expression of her wide away of facial forms replacing it. Seriousness.

"How you feeling this morning?"

I had to think about it for a moment, wondering if I should sugar-coat it or not. In the end, I realized she'd probably already figured out how I felt, and would see right through my lie. I was not up for putting on a fascade today.

"Like Shit."

"How'd I know that?"

"Maybe 'cause it's been that way for the past week?"

Maureen nodded, and made as if to grab her cup again, changed her mind in mid hand-raise, and dropped it back into her lap.

"But no better? Not slightly-less shitty, eh?" She tried again, no longer looking down at me, but becoming overly interested in a drooping carnation in my bouquet.

"Maybe a bit better." I muttered. " I mean, I'm not dead. That's got to be something."

I didn't mean to sound harsh, but I felt afterwards that I did. Perhaps I was too brutally true, or my actually saying the word 'dead' threw her. Maureen winced, shutting her eyes, and inhaled a little faster than usual, deeper and more deliberate.

"Listen Mimi..." She started, after breathing a couple of times , I'd begun to let my mind wander, wondering if Joanne were trying to teach Maureen some coping skills so she wouldn't always be so fast-acting in her take of things. Certainly the breathing technique was new. "We were talking last night. Mark and Maureen and Collins and Benny..."

When the hell'd they bring Benny into this?. I already knew he found out that I was in hospital, though he hadn't even tried to see me, which I was thankful for. Mark told me a little after I'd recovered from the night he'd gotten into big trouble with Alison over me. I wasn't entirely sorry.

Still, we weren't exactly friends with Benny. Why'd the others get him into their discussion. Did they know something she didn't?

Maureen was continuing on, unknowing that I was no longer fully listening. "We haven't told Roger about it yet, but seeing as he's looking rather peaceful over there, I figure it'd be safe if I told you and wait to explain to him later?"

It was a question, but I didn't answer it. Maureen seemed to take my non-argument as a yes, though. " See, we're gonna tell your mom what's happened, she's really worried-"

I never let her finish.

"No."

"But Mimi, honey.." Maureen added, almost pleadingly, which scared my slightly. " She's your mom...we've been in your apartment and there's these messages from her on the answering machine. She doesn't know where you are, and she deserves to know-"

"No."

"Why?!" Maureen's voice almost startled her. Sometimes she really could sound like an overgrown child, and these were one of these moments. Still, I couldn't give in to it, no matter how much she reminded me of a whiny child.

"No. I won't let Mamá know anything. Not now. Call her back and say I'm busy. Busy but fine."

"You just told me you weren't." Maureen snapped, I wished I could pull back away from her, but that'd be a bit rude, seeing as she believes at the moment she's trying to get me to do the right thing. I sighed, however.

"Listen, Maureen. You guys don't understand. Mamá doesn't need to know about this."

"Why?!"

"Because I don't want her too!" My voice cracked painfully. those five words were the loudest I'd ever managed to speak in the past week, and it still came out in a harsh rasp. I couldn't manage the rest of what I wanted to say: Because if I let them call her, I'd prove her right. Even though, technically, she was. She didn't to know that.

Maureen was silent, and when my eyes roamed up to look at her, I saw her studying me. I wondered for a moment what she saw; a too-scrawny girl, made entirely of skin and bones with a perpetually mop of unruly tangles. Someone too young and too stupid and too weak to know even remotely what they were doing. A once graceful body skimmed away to a skeleton stretched with taught mocha-shaded skin, brown eyes hidden in darkened sockets, and blurry, hardly able to keep images straight all the time. A body sticked with needles so many times over so many years it'd sucked almost everything out of the living person. I knew that, if that was the image she saw, she was right. I've I'd have been born an animal, if I'd actually been a cat, I'd have been put to sleep a long time ago.

"Mimi." She said, once she'd turned again to the dying plants on the table beside me, after that long scrutiny. She sounded as though she were struggling for calm. " Why the hell do you not want your mother knowing about this."

I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling as wasted as my body looked. It happened alot now, I'd be fine one moment and then utterly out of any willpower. It scared the shit out of Roger. The shit out of me too. " She told me this would happen. I wanted to prove her wrong."

I could no longer see Maureen, but her voice rang out still, though now it had a slightly echoy tinge to it. " She told you you'd-"

"No." I cut her off, even more mumbled than I had before, my mouth dry. " It's more complicated than that. Much more."

---

Author's Note: Okay, that is the first chapter. I am cutting it her, perhaps a bit short, but it'll become evident when I post the second chapter why. This was alot easier to right than I thought it would be, though I hope my spelling isn't too bad. My work isn't always emmaculate, and at the moment my spellchecker's on the frits, So I'll have to edit it later. Review it. Flame it. Do whatever you want.


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